Empire
by Maid of Imladris
Summary: Murtagh arrived at the Battle of the Burning Plains...and fought on the side of the Varden. Now Eragon and his brother must race to defeat Galbatorix, but the road is long and riddled with dangers. Will continue to the end of Book three.
1. The Battle of the Burning Plains

A/N- Hello. Well, here goes nothing. This fic is an AU that begins with the Battle of the Burning Plains and will continue on through the end of my version of book three. In this story, Murtagh arrives at the battle on the side of the Varden. I actually have an outline and plot, and think that my reasoning for this is pretty good.

I am going to try very hard to keep everyone in character, and keep the story (apart from the one major plot change) as canon as possible. If you notice a detail that needs corrected, or some such thing, _please _let me know. I love all reviews, but absolutely worship constructive criticism. Flames are okay too- if you really hate my story that much, them obviously I need to fix something.

BTW, the excerpt in the beginning of this chapter comes from _Eldest- _page 639

Empire-

The Battle of the Burning Plains.

"_Soon afterward, a horn echoed from rear of the Empire's army, then another, and another. Someone began to pound a sonorous drum, the peals of which stilled the field as everyone looked about for the source of the beat. Even as Eragon watched, an ominous figure detached itself from the horizon in the north and rose up in the lurid sky over the Burning Plains. The gore-crows scattered before the barbed black shadow, which balanced motionless upon the thermals. At first Eragon thought it a Lethrblaka, one of the Ra'zac's mounts. Then a ray of light escaped the clouds and struck the figure crossways from the west._

_A red dragon floated above them, glowing and sparkling in the sunbeam like a bed of blood-red coals. His wing membranes were the color of wine held before a lantern. His claws and teeth and the spikes along his spine were as white as snow. In his vermilion eyes there gleamed a terrible glee. On his back was fixed a saddle, and in that saddle sat a man garbed in polished steel armor and armed with a hand-and-a-half sword._

_Dread clutched at Eragon. _Galbatorix managed to get another dragon to hatch!

_Then the man in steel raised his left hand and a shaft of crackling ruby energy sprang from his palm and…"_

…and stuck one of the Empire's command tents, instantly demolishing it and the area around it for at least twenty feet. The wine colored, unnatural flames produced continued to spread, and enemy soldiers screamed in agony as they were burned to death by the raging inferno. The flames moved over the sand without dying out, greedily consuming everything in their path.

The pounding drumbeat slowed, then halted, and a murmur of confusion rippled through the battlefield as the troops of both sides realized what had happened. The Varden warriors let out an ear-splitting cheer, and hope leapt up in Eragon's heart. He stared in shock as the dragon swooped low over the Plains, the Rider loosing another wave of red energy on the Empire's terrified troops.

_Saphira, what is happening? _Eragon asked, hardly daring to hope. He squinted against the harsh, bright sunlight revealed by the parting clouds, unconsciously leaning forward as he watched the dragon and Rider closely.

_It would appear that we have a new ally, little one. Shall we rejoin the battle? _Saphira asked, eager to aid the mysterious duo.

_We shall, friend of my heart! _Wounds and aches forgotten, Eragon raced over the hot, bloodstained sand, heart pounding in his ears.

His steps faltered as he passed a still-living horse that had a spear through its side. He put a hand on its neck and murmured _Sleep, brother, _transferring horse's remaining vitality to himself and Saphira. The resulting energy wasn't enough to restore either of them to full strength, but it soothed his aching muscles, and stopped their limbs from trembling.

Then Eragon leapt up onto the blue dragon, strapping his legs to her sides and grabbing his shield, quickly checking to make sure that Zar'roc was still strapped to his belt. He used just a bit of his magic to secure himself to the well-crafted saddle, and then Saphira took off, winging up and over the massed armies, who were beginning to break free of their shock at what had transpired.

Eragon looked down as they flew, watching the Empire's obviously confused troops as they milled about. The red dragon and its Rider continued to wreak devastation on their forces. A warrior gasped in agony as he was impaled by the hand-and-a-half sword the other Rider wielded, but the Rider had moved on to another enemy before the first even fell. Many more were being incinerated by the still-raging ruby blaze, and the red dragon unleashed similar fire upon any foolish enough to stay in its range. As word of what had transpired passed back to the fringes of the army, many laid down their weapons and surrendered, totally disheartened by the prospect of fighting against two Riders.

_They were expecting this new Rider to enter the fight on their side, it would seem. _Saphira remarked as she flew, wings pumping up and down quickly as she sped across the desert, over the warring armies, over the mutilated bodies of the dead and dying soldiers on both sides.

_I wonder who he is, _Eragon mused, cold wind whipping around his hair. He was truly astonished by the power this new ally had- he was continuing to fight at an extraordinary rate, and was showing no signs of tiring whatsoever.

Tearing his gaze from the other Rider, Eragon focused on all he had learned in the last year, mentally racing through everything he had every learned about magic and fighting. Then, taking a deep breath of the air- cold and refreshingly clean, as far above the battle as they were- he braced himself to rejoin the fight yet again. Drawing upon the reserves of his magic, he blocked the few arrows that were sent in their direction, and soon, Saphira was hovering above the thick of the battle. _"Brisingr! _the seventeen-year-old cried, unleashing his own power on the enemies below. Saphira banked to the left and dove, and soon they were on the ground in the thick of the battle, Saphira trampling anyone underfoot and unleashing streams of fire at the enemy. Eragon lashed out with his magic and Zar'roc, moving almost automatically as he brought his sword down on the bare head of one soldier, then pulling the red sword free to stab another in the stomach. He let out a savage war cry at the same moment Saphira roared, the sounds mingling and reverberating eerily. Over the din of the battle, an answering cry was heard. Eragon grinned, his first true smile for what seemed like an eternity. At least on this battlefield, he was not truly alone.

And the Varden pressed forward yet again, heartened by the knowledge that two Riders were now fighting alongside them.

As Eragon and Saphira continued their onslaught, the young Rider became aware of a disturbance on the Burning Plains. At first he discounted it, but when he felt one of the Du Vrangr Gata fall, he realized that some new force had come into play.

_What is going on? _He asked Trianna as he fought. Her response, when it came a moment later, was panic-stricken.

_Shadeslayer! You have to help us. We cannot stop them! Th-they will kill all the Varden. It's the- it's the Twins!_

Shocked, Eragon faltered, and swore angrily when a tall, bearded man managed to slip in under his guard and gash him on the side. _"_The Twins?" Eragon gasped aloud, wincing at the blood flowing freely from the long cut. "Waíse heill," he muttered as he held Zar'roc up, wary of another attack. "But- they were killed!"

_Apparently not, _Saphira said dryly. _And it would seem that they were not quite as loyal as one could have hoped._

Rage coursed through Eragon as he realized what that meant. _They murdered Ajihad, the filthy traitors. They killed him! I will kill _them_ for what they have done, _he promised. He glanced at his side, relieved to see it mostly healed, although he could not completely close the wound without draining his magic dangerously

After dispatching a recklessly brave soldier who had moved to attack him, Eragon leapt onto Saphira, quickly securing himself to the saddle and sheathing Zar'roc. The blue dragon opened her wings with a snap, then took off quickly, dodging a spear hurtled at her as she sped upwards. When they were out of arrowshot, Eragon hurriedly scanned the vicinity, searching for any sign of where the Twins were. Minutes passed, and he was growing frantic. He could see Hrothgar, wielding Volund with deadly force, Orik at his side. He saw a group of Kull tearing their way through the Empire's left flank, sharpened blade and brute strength cutting a swath through the other soldiers.

But through the smoke and confusion of the battle, even with his elven vision, it seemed impossible that he would be able to locate the two magicians he was looking for.

_Where are they, Saphira?_

_I am searching as well, little one, _she responded.

After another few moments, he was ready to give up. He felt another of the Varden's spellcasters fall, and he winced, despairing.

_You are searching for the Twins? _

Eragon started at the sudden intrusion. He had been so distracted he had let his shields fall- he instantly closed his mind off when he felt the invasion. But…the voice had been hauntingly familiar, and it didn't seem hostile. He did not recognize it- was it the other Rider? Hesitating, Eragon let his shields fall again, and the voice spoke once more.

_Are you searching for the Twins?_ It asked again.

_Yes, _Eragon responded nervously.

A few moments later, an image passed into his mind- two identical magicians fighting side by side, near the front of the left flank of the Empire's soldiers. Half-turning in his saddle to look in that direction, Eragon quickly located his query, and Saphira dove, heading toward the traitors that had killed Nasuada's father, the leader of the Varden.

_Thank you, _Eragon said fervently as the ground rushed toward him, and the sounds of battle grew progressively louder. The twins were easily visible.

_You are welcome, _the voice responded, and Eragon could have sworn that he had heard that voice before, somewhere.

_Now is not the time to be distracted, _Saphira gently scolded, and Eragon shook himself out of his reflection, focusing totally on his surroundings. Saphira was right. He couldn't afford to be distracted, not when so many people were depending on him.

_Hurry, Saphira_, he urged. Another of the Varden spellcasters had been killed, and Eragon winced when he heard Trianna's frantic cries.

_Sh-Shadeslayer! Please! They are killing me! Please- please…_

They had finally turned to the most powerful of the Du Vrangr Gata- and she was weakening quickly.

Saphira increased her speed, pushing herself to the limit, and then they were there, and Eragon was leaping to the ground, pulling out Zar'roc, and pushing with all his power, Saphira adding her strength to his and sending a jet of blue flame to batter their wards with, crumbling the shield one of the Twins had set around themselves, bringing the red sword up and around, and lopping the bald magician's head clean off, all in less than five seconds.

The remaining Twin fell to the ground, convulsing, almost all energy spent in attempting to maintain his brother's shield. Soon he, too, met his end at the point of Eragon's sword.

And then it was over.

With the death of the Twins, though more than half of their forces were still intact, the Empire's army retreated to regroup and nurse their wounds. Small battles were being finished here and there, and the other Rider was half-heartedly chasing a last few enemy stragglers back to the main group, but the bulk of the fighting was over. Eragon looked around at the Burning Plains, the black smoke rising up from numerous fires- still raging, in some areas- enough dead humans, dwarves, and Urgals to populate a city, and the carrion birds now descending on the carnage. He looked up and saw someone who might have Trianna stagger toward the tents that had been set up for healing, stumbling often and cradling one arm. Squinting, Eragon could just make out the sun bouncing off the red dragon's scales, the steel-clad Rider on its back. They were traveling back to the Varden camp.

Saphira landed with a rush of wind and a loud thump on the sand beside him. _Who do you think it is? _she asked, weariness evident even in her mind-voice.

_I don't know, _Eragon responded, shaking his head. He was becoming painfully aware of a renewed throb in his side and the aches of a thousand smaller injuries. He suddenly felt very old, and very, very tired.

Looking once more over the battlefield, and shaking his head sadly, the young Rider walked over to a dwarven warrior that had been stabbed in the side. "Waíse heil," he murmured softly.

_I don't know, Saphira, _he said again._ But I imagine we will discover that soon enough._

A/N- Well, three guesses who the mysterious rider is. All will be made clear in the next few chapters, though it will take some time to explain everything.

And as far as romances go...they will be there, but they will be minor. No OC romances, though one of my pairings is a bit unusual. I think it fits, but hey... Arya/Eragon will be there, but it doesn't really start until near the end of the book. A couple other romances exist, and one with another major character, but again, they're not the focus of this story.

Please review, and tell me what you thought!


	2. Discovery

A/N- Well, here's chapter two. I want to fervently thank all my reviewers, particularly pupdawg66. You guys rock!

This chapter is a little bit longer that the first, and I hope you enjoy it. Reviews of any type are welcomed and loved. BTW, if anyone ever wants an explanation of why I chose to do something in this story, just ask me in a review or PM. I'll do my best to answer any questions that you have.

Disclaimer- (This applies to chapter one, as well). I don't own Eragon, Eldest, or anything else relation to the Inheritance Trilogy. Unless owning copies of both books counts, which I'm pretty darn sure it doesn't. Christopher Paolini owns it all. sobs

Empire-

Discovery

"Easy now," Eragon murmured, kneeling by the wounded man. He had been working for hours, healing any person he could, man, dwarf, or Urgal. This was one of King Orrin's men, who had taken an arrow through the stomach.

"Water," groaned the man. "For pity's sake, water. My throat is as dry as sand. Please, Shadeslayer."

Eragon smiled, trying to comfort him. "I can give you a drink of water, but it'd be better to wait until after I heal you. Can you wait? If you do, I promise you all the water you want."

"You promise, Shadeslayer?"

"I promise."

The man visibly struggled against another wave of agony before saying, "If I must."

With the aid of magic, he removed the arrow, then he and Saphira worked to heal the man, using some of his own energy to do so. The work took a few minutes, and when the man was healed, tears brimmed in his eyes. "I…Shadeslayer, you…"

Eragon handed him his waterskin. "Here, keep it. You have more need of it than I."

He stood up, wincing as his muscles twinged painfully, and took a few staggering steps before his legs gave out from beneath him and he collapsed.

_Eragon? _Saphira called, concerned, from where she hovered above the ground.

_I am fine, Saphira. My legs…just gave out, _he responded, lurching back to his feet.

_Eragon, you need to rest. You have been working for hours- you have done all you can._

"No, Saphira," Eragon said aloud. "There are still…more that are injured. They need…they need help."

The dragon sighed, blue fire flaring from her nostrils, as Eragon stubbornly staggered over to the next person in need of healing- an Urgal who had taken a blow to the head.

_Eragon, if you don't stop this madness, I will pick you up and carry you back to the camp! You will kill yourself if you continue on at this rate. I understand that there are more injured, but you have done all you can. You are no use to the Varden dead._

Eragon stood up wearily and nodded to the Urgal he had just healed, who was looking around dazedly. Grudgingly, he said, _Very well, but as soon as I have gotten an hour or so of rest I will come back. I will not allow any man who fought beside me to die if I can help them._

He walked south across the Burning Plains, heading toward the Varden camp. Saphira followed, but before they had gotten more than a few yards, Eragon saw Roran approaching from the Jiet River. He walked up to Eragon, planted his feet wide apart, and stared at him, mouth working as if he could not fit the words past his teeth.

Then he punched Eragon in the chin.

The blow would have been easy enough to avoid, but he allowed it to land, rolling away from it a bit so that Roran did not break his knuckles. It still hurt, though.

"I guess I deserved that," Eragon said tiredly.

"That you did. We have to talk."

"Can it was a few moments? I need to report to Nasuada, my liege-lord. You can accompany me if you want…"

Roran agreed, albeit reluctantly. An awkward silence overcame the two as the walked, and then Roran said, "That's Saphira, correct? Jeod said that was her name.

Saphira turned her bright gaze on him. _It is indeed, Stronghammer. I have always wanted to meet Eragon's nest-mate. He always spoke very highly of you. _

Roran gasped. "She talks?"

This time Saphira addressed him directly. _Did you think me as mute as a rock lizard? _

Roran shook his head in awe, and they continued walking over the pockmarked ground.

After a while, though, Eragon began to feel dizzy and weak; he stumbled and collapsed, falling to the ground before Roran could catch him.

_Eragon, what is wrong? Eragon!_

He heard the sapphire dragon, but it was a voice speaking to some other, not him. He was looking at the ground- much closer than in should have been- through some other's eyes. He was detached, like he watching events play out from a long way away, and he wanted to get up, he knew he should, but his limbs would not cooperate. Blackness crept up at the edges of his vision.

_He overexerted himself. _That was not Saphira's voice. It was that same, hauntingly familiar voice that had shown him where to find the Twins. Or was it? He couldn't remember, couldn't think…

_He will be fine, do not worry. He just needs to rest. I will take him back to the campsite…_

And then the darkness overtook him, rushing to obscure his vision, drowning his consciousness in dark waves.

When Eragon awoke, he was alone.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. The awful scent of rotting meat was wafting in on the warm breeze, and made him want to gag.

Holding one had to his mouth, he tried to sit up, but his trembling muscles did not allow it. Eragon saw that he was in his tent at the Varden camp, his armor set neatly in one corner, Zar'roc about a foot to his left, within arms reach. The small traveling sack that contained the few personal possession he had brought sat in the other corner of the tent, and his daggers, bow, and quiver were all piled near his armor. The tan canvas protected him from the direct rays of the sun, but the tent was still stiflingly hot, and the glaring light filtering in only added to the oppressiveness of the small area.

The young Rider frowned, contemplating. The last thing he could remember was walking with Roran back to the camp, and then being incredibly tired…what had happened?

_Saphira? _He called.

There was silence for a moment, and then the dragon replied, _Yes, little one? I was sleeping, you know. _She sounded mildly annoyed.

_Sorry. I was just wondering what happened. _

_You collapsed, little one. You overexerted yourself, and blood loss did not aid matters. You have been resting for more that a day and a half. _Saphira suddenly sounded very happy, and she added: _The new Rider brought you back and healed you. He was healing soldiers, as you were, on the other side of the battlefield. He, however, was sensible enough to stop before he nearly killed himself. _

Eragon gasped, excited. _You have seen the new Rider? Who is he? What is he like? What is his dragon's name? How old is he? Is it an elf, or a human? How did they get one of the eggs? Did they- _

_Ask Nasuada, _Saphira said simply, sounding terribly smug that she knew something her Rider didn't. _I am going back to sleep. _She paused, and then added more gently, _It is good that you are awake, Eragon. You fought well._

Eragon smiled slightly. _As did you, my friend._

Then she cut off the connection, and Eragon was left with a mind buzzing with unanswered questions.

"If Saphira won't tell me, I'll just get up and ask," Eragon said aloud, disappointed that Saphira would be so heartless as to hold such important information from him.

Getting up, however, proved to be much harder than he had anticipated. His muscles twined and burned when he attempted to make the smallest movement, and gave out completely every time he tried to sit. Frustrated, he used some of the energy he had regained over the last day and a half to partially heal himself. Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he found that while he was still rather sore, he could sit up and move around, albeit stiffly. He slowly changed clothes, and half walked, half dragged himself to the entrance of the tent.

Muttering several rather uncomplimentary phrases directed at dragons who kept essential information from their Riders, Eragon walked out onto into the open, wincing as direct sun met his eyes for the first time in more than a day. That explained the smell- the battlefield was all to near, and the heat of the day was rotting the corpses.

The sky was cloudless, and glancing at the sun's position, Eragon estimated it was near midday. When he looked down again, however, he was overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness. He quickly leaned on the nearest tent pole for support until he felt well enough to continue, and then headed toward the pavilion, which was near the back of the Varden camp, weaving past others he passed. It seemed the most likely place to find the Varden leader.

The walk took an agonizingly long time, as he had to be very careful not to fall or stumble. The were quite a few Varden warriors about, and he knew that if he looked as terribly weak as he felt, their morale would drop. So he made his slow way, winding through hastily erected tents and past men-almost all wounded- toward his destination.

Finally, Eragon saw the large red pavilion, the pennant flying above it embroidered with a black shield and two parallel, slanting swords. He nodded to the guards standing to either side of the tent flap, who bowed in return and indicated that he could enter. Ducking down to step inside, he was overcome with another bout of dizziness, and barely managed to lurch into the pavilion before he collapsed. The world spinning around him, Eragon saw a tall, brown-haired man in a red cloak turn, apparently in the middle of a conversation with Nasuada, who was standing beside a long table, covered with paper and what looked to be a large map. The man frowned concernedly when he saw Eragon, shaking his head with something bordering amusement before bending down and helping the teen up. Eragon stood shakily, then froze, completely shocked, when he realized who the brown-haired man was.

"_Murtagh?"_ he whispered, stunned. The man nodded, half-smiling.

"You shouldn't be up, Eragon. You're on the verge of passing out again. You overexerted yourself far to much during the battle."

"Murtagh?" Eragon asked incredulously. "But you- k-killed, and the Twins, but- and I- wha-what happened? You're the new Rider? H-how did- "

That was the voice, it had been his hauntingly familiar voice, it had been him…

Murtagh nodded, waved his hand rather vaguely in a southeastern direction. "Thorn is out hunting. He was feeling rather peakish, after all that fighting and such." He looked critically at the pale, almost comically wide-eyed Eragon, still standing only because of Murtagh's firm grip on the back of his tunic, and he frowned.

"Sit down, Eragon," he said, gently shoving the younger rider into a rough-hewn chair that was off to one side of the pavilion. "I'm handling this all wrong, aren't I?" Taking Eragon's stunned silence as an affirmative answer, he continued, albeit awkwardly. "Yes, I am alive, and yes, I am the new Rider. The Twins set the attack up to make good their return to Galbatorix, kill Aijhad, and capture me, thus the reason both they and I survived."

Eragon reeled, dumbfounded. It all made sense, in a twisted way. If the Twins had survived, then it was logical that Murtagh would have too, and of course Galbatorix would want Murtagh back- he was Morzan's son, after all.

"You escaped, then?" he asked, voice hoarse. "From the Emperor?"

"Yes, Eragon, I did. And I will explain it all to you, soon, but before I explain there is something important, something you need to know."

Murtagh hesitated, then took a deep breath, shoved a lock of brown hair away from his pale face, and continued.

"Eragon, I am your brother."

Eragon froze, and all the blood drained out of his face. Nasuada gasped in shock, but he didn't hear her. "You- your brother?" he choked out, incredulous.

Eragon couldn't believe it. Murtagh was his brother.

And his father…he had always wondered who his father was, what he was like, what had happened to him. Now he knew.

His father was Morzan, the first and last of the Foresworn. He was cruel and cold and manipulative. He gave Murtagh the scar he carries.

And Brom had killed him. _Brom killed my father_. It did not sound right, could not be right.

"You're my _brother?"_

He couldn't keep the horror out of his voice, the revulsion, but he regretted it immediately, had never regretted anything more, as Murtagh pulled back as if stung, face twisting in anger.

"Murtagh, I'm sorry," Eragon said despondently. "It's just that everything has been happening, and I just don't know what to do, and…I'm sorry," he finished, burying his face in his hands.

Murtagh's face softened. "I know, brother. I'm sorry too. Gods know how sorry I am." He put a hand on Eragon's shoulder, and the younger teen turned to look at him. "Eragon, you're about to collapse again. You need rest to recover your strength. There is a lot that needs to be discussed, but you are no use to anyone in your current state." He turned to Nasuada. "With your permission, milady?"

Nasuada nodded. "See that he gets back to his tent safely, and then report back here." She looked sternly at Murtagh. "I expect a full explanation when you return. Eragon, report here at dawn if you are able. There is much that needs to be discussed and dealt with, but it can wait for dawn, if it must."

She smiled. "I am in your debt, Eragon. It is not an understatement to say that without you, we would not have won the battle. You also slew the fiends that killed my father, from what I am told, and for that you have my eternal gratitude."

Eragon nodded wearily. "I thank you, but I would have wished for their deaths no matter. Ajihad was a good man."

And then Murtagh pulled Eragon to his feet, and the two brothers walked out into the harsh sunlight.

The next time Eragon awoke, it was dark, and a refreshingly cool breeze blew into the tent from the open tent flap. Experimentally sitting up and stretching, Eragon was pleased to discover that while he was still sore, he could move around with relative ease. He considered going to report to Nasuada, but dismissed the idea quickly, realizing that she would most likely be asleep.

Feeling restless, Eragon decided to take a walk to settle his whirling mind. Standing up and strapping Zar'roc to his side, the putting his boots on, he slipped out into the starry night.

The wind that he had felt was double strong outside, and ruffled his hair as he walked between the tents dotting the area. The cloying scent that had been so overpowering during the day had faded- or perhaps he had just grown accustomed to it.

"The stars are beautiful, are they not?"

Startled, Eragon whirled around, drawing Zar'roc and settling into a defensive stance. He looked around, and his gaze settled on a figure leaning against a tent pole not five feet away.

It was Arya. Relaxing, Eragon sheathed his sword and said formally, "I apologize, Arya Svit-kona. I was…startled."

Taking several steps foreword to stand beside him, the elf said, "It is quite all right, Shadeslayer. I should have given warning of my presence." She was wearing breeches, and a forest green tunic over a simple white shirt. Somehow, Eragon thought, they looked like royal garb on her.

They stood in silence for a time, Eragon growing increasingly nervous as the moments passed. He didn't know what to say, and settled for shifting his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly. Finally, Arya spoke.

"You fought very well, Eragon," she said. "You are a credit to your instructors, and all of your friends. I am…honored…to be one of the latter.

She will not think that when she hears who I truly am, Eragon thought bitterly. She will think it no honor to know me then. But still, he was pleased to know that she seemed willing to continue their friendship, strained though it had been.

Out loud, he said, "Thank you, milady."

"Call me Arya, Eragon," she said, still without looking at him.

He was startled at the request, but did not show it. "As you wish, mila- Arya."

Neither of them again spoke for a long while, and eventually Eragon said, "If I may, I shall continue my walk, Arya."

She said nothing for a moment, then- "Certainly. Thank you for your company."

Eragon hesitated, then began to walk off, casting one last glance over his shoulder at the beautiful elf behind him, who was staring at the stars as if they held some answer she was searching for, face inscrutable as always. Then he sighed and meandered away, scuffing one of his boots in the sand as he did so.

There was so much he had to think about, he mused as he walked. He wandered aimlessly, barely even aware of his surroundings.

Murtagh's sudden reappearance (as a Dragon Rider, no less!) and the revelation that he was his brother, that he was a son of Morzan, his confused feeling for Arya, the war, his training, his _life_. He was only seventeen, for the gods' sakes! He should have been working the farm with Roran now, not recovering from a vicious battle against the Empire. Not working to defeat Galbatorix.

And yet, he had learned so much, grown so much. Saphira, his greatest friend and ally, his other half- she completed him, and he would not relinquish knowing her for anything. Even now, he could feel the thin thread of emotion that connected them at all times, even if she was sleeping or had her mind blocked from him. She knew all of his secrets, all his quirks and fears and flaws, and did not hate him for any of that.

Murtagh- he would never have met his brother; never he even known he had a blood-brother if he had not gone off, chasing the Ra'zac.

Would he be willing to give up knowing and loving Arya, as unrequited as that love was, for a simple, peaceful existence?

_No_, he decided. _No matter what happens, I would never be able to go back to the way things were. No matter how much I've gone through, how much I will have to endure in the coming years, I would not go back, even if I could._

A/N- Once again, please review! Con Crit is worshiped, positive reviews are loved, and flames are appreciated as honest opinions. Thanks!


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